Red
by Mulitfandom
Summary: The prequel to Home Sweet Home, in which Natasha and Clint find their way into Steve and Tony's home and hearts. Could be read as a stand-alone.


Natasha loved the dress her mother picked for her today. It was red with white flowers and it twirled beautifully. She only wished she could be like the girls in the pictures with a red bow to match. It would be perfect with her dress and red hair! Red was Natasha's favourite colour, she was so lucky her mom got her so many red things, she would be the Red Girl!

The girl was pulled from her musings by her stupid little brother, Clint. The three-year-old didn't understand why mommy left them alone.

"Shhhh, quiet! Mommy's gonna get mad!" she whispered, glaring at the boy.

"Mommy!" Clint cried, more tears rolling down his rosy cheeks and threw his teddy bear at the girl.

"Shhh, Mommy is getting her medicine, Clint. You have to wait." Natasha huffed and shoved a toy block in his face. _Why didn't Clint get it yet?_

They came to this house every day while mommy got her medicine to feel good, then they went to the park! It was like this every day.

The boy ignored her and continued crying, throwing the block as well. Sighing, Natasha sat on the ground next to her brother. "Come on, Clint, she's coming back, you know she is. She comes back every day."

The door swung open violently, the hinges screaming.

"Who are you?" Natasha asked, jumping back. A tall man with an unbuttoned shirt loomed in the doorway, staring at the kids and making the girl's skin crawl with an unknown feeling.

The man scoffed. "Your new daddy."

"What? We don't have a daddy," Natasha stated, confused.

"Yeah, well ya got one now. Ya mom didn't want ya no more so she left yous two wid me. Only problem, I can't afford to take in a couple a bastards out a the kindness a ma heart. So, yous is gonna have ta work." The man was eyeing Natasha in a way that made her skin crawl.

"Mommy doesn't want us?" she asked, tears forming in her eyes.

"Nope," the man responded. "She peaced right out."

"Mommy," Clint cried harder.

"Shut him up!" the man screamed. Natasha picked up her brother somewhat awkwardly, shushing him and rubbing his back, trying to keep the tears from leaving her own eyes.

"What kind of work?" she asked.

The man grinned, gesturing for the kids to follow him. "I have...friends. They'll pay a pretty penny to play wit' ya."

"Play?" Natasha repeated, struggling to hold onto the squirming three-year-old.

"Yeah," the man echoed. "Play." He lead the two to a dingy room that had only a rusted sink and a bare mattress covered in filth and a lumpy bed sheet.

"Hey!" the man screamed, startling the kids, "Get this outta here."

Two other men clad in hoodies rushed in and gathered the sheet, struggling only slightly with the weight of it, then passed the three on their way out without even a glance.

She found out what 'play' meant a few hours later in the very room her mother had overdosed in, not thinking about what the sheet-covered lump the men dragged out was.

* * *

_Red._

That's all a nine-year-old Natasha could see as she let the sound of low grunting and squeaking wash over her.

_Red._

Staring at the painted walls, she ignored the tears soaking the mattress underneath her.

_Red._

Her head was being pushed further into the mattress, blurring her vision with her bright red hair.

The man finished and, after cleaning himself up, slammed the door as he left.

_Red._

Was flowing in between her legs as she forced herself up. It was getting light out, which meant there wouldn't be any more men tonight. Hopefully.

Her once favourite colour was now the source of her nightmares, fueling her fear and hatred for the men that hurt her and the unjust world that let them.

Cleaning herself with the rusted sink water, Natasha fought not to wince, steeling herself against the pain.

"'Tasha?"

"Clint," she sighed as she watched her five-year-old brother be pushed into the room.

Running up to his big sister, Clint hugged her around the middle, not noticing her stifle a gasp of pain. "Did they hurt you again, 'Tasha?"

"Yeah, Clint. They did," she responded, petting his hair. "Did they hurt you?"

As he did every morning, he shook his head.

"Good," she sighed. "Now, come on, you're in need of a good bath, then it's time for bed!"

"But 'Tasha—"

"No buts, mister. You stink!" Natasha joked, rising out the dirty cloth in the sink.

With a groan, the boy pulled off his shirt and sat obediently for his sister to clean him. "Hey, 'Tasha?"

"Yes, Clint?"

"What do they do when they hurt you?"

Pausing her hand, Natasha had to fight down the shiver the question brought. "I told I'd tell you when you're older."

"But—"

"No buts, Clint. You'll just have to wait," she soothed, moving to wash his stomach.

The girl froze as she noticed a white sheen to her brother's skin.

"Clint. What is that?" she asked, forcibly calm.

The five-year-old dropped his head and started to cry. Natasha abandoned the bath and wrapped the boy in her arms.

"Did they touch you?" she whispered. He nodded.

"I don't understand, Tasha. He said all I'd have to do is sit there and he'd give me ice cream! But I didn't like how he was touching me! It made me feel all icky!" Clint sobbed into his sister's threadbare dress.

"Have they done this before?" she asked, reigning in her anger. He cried harder and nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"They said they'd hurt you more," the boy whispered.

"Food for the brats," the door swung open to reveal a grime-covered man carrying a loaf of bread and a small plate of cheese.

Natasha glared at the man. These disgusting men had touched her baby brother, the one good person Natasha had left, and they were going to pay.

"You said you wouldn't touch him," she hissed, glaring at the man.

"Pfft, first off, I said he wouldn't be our bitch. Secondly, all we did was touch his little dick, not our fault he started sobbing like a baby, it's not even the first time we've done it. Third, you are in no position to argue to begin with, whore," the man sneered, coming closer to grab a fist full of Natasha's hair. "We own you, remember?"

"I'll start screaming and biting again," she warned, effectively grasping at straws.

"And we'll kill you and replace you with him," he mused, throwing her down on the floor. "He's old enough now that a dick wouldn't kill him if we prepped him enough. Plus we'd get more money from the closeted governors that like little boys. You don't got no dick, bitch."

Red.

Her teeth sunk into the man's hand as he turned away, she felt the blood fill her mouth and she heard the scream of pain from the man.

"You little bitch!" he screamed before kicking her in the stomach, making her gasp in pain and let go of the hand. Holding the injured hand to his chest, the man watched the blood flow down his arm.

"Bite me? You think you can bite me?" the man yelled.

Natasha watched out of the corner of her eye as Clint scooted further away from her and the man, just as she'd taught him. She smiled in satisfaction, blood staining her teeth. "I think I just did."

"You little—" the man reached for her neck, wanting to strangle the young girl. Before he could, she darted between his legs and climbed up his back, feeling him struggle to get a good hold of her to throw her off. Natasha pushed down her fear of the man and focused entirely on Clint's safety. She didn't matter. Clint did.

_Red._

Gathering her courage, Natasha bit down again, this time at the man's neck, almost immediately letting go as she was splattered with more of the man's blood, feeling it spray the air around her as the man screamed.

The man pressed his hand against the wound, but it was too deep and too late, he stumbled with the weight of the girl on his back and fell to his knees in a puddle of his own blood.

Stepping off the man's back, Natasha walked around and watched his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped the final distance to the floor, wheezing and gasping until the body finally stopped twitching.

_The room was covered in red._

"'Tasha?"

Cowering in the corner, Clint watched with wide eyes as more blood pooled around his sister's feet, silent tears tracking down his face. "Is he okay?"

"No, Clint," Natasha bent down to look into the man's lifeless eyes to convince herself as much as her brother. A strange numbness had overtaken her. The anger and the fear she had felt was just… gone. "He's dead."

_Red._

She lifted her foot and watched as blood dripped back onto the floor in a detached fascination.

"What are we gonna do 'Tasha?"

"We're gonna go home." The girl's voice was emotionless, mechanically holding an arm out for Clint to grab onto.

"But he said Mommy didn't want us anymore," Clint said, grasping his sister's hand tightly.

"Then we'll make our own home."

It turned out that walking the streets covered in blood and grime and wearing next to no clothes with a five-year-old in tow makes for a lot of stares. Natasha ignored the looks as she pulled Clint across another street. Truth be told, she had no idea where she was going, she just needed to get out of the house that was her own personal hell for the past two years. She didn't see the places or people that they passed, everything moved together in a timeless blur of motion that came with the words creaming in her head:_ "You're free."_

The two had just past a grocer when they saw the lights of a police cruiser.

"'Tasha? What's that?" Clint pointed to the car.

"It's the police," Nat explained, continuing to walk unfazed. It wasn't until the police officer stood directly in front of the siblings that the girl stopped walking and looked up.

"Hey, did you hear me calling for you?" the woman asked with a soft expression. She started moving her hands quickly while speaking and added: "You're not deaf are you?"

Natasha shook her head and moved to walk around the lady.

"Hey, what are your names?"

Natasha ignored the woman and pressed on.

"Where are your parents?" the officer tried again.

Clint was looking between his sister and the woman, confused. "'Tasha? Why are you not talking to the nice lady?" The girl simply shook her head at the boy and continued walking. They didn't have time for this, they were _free_.

"'Tasha? Is that your name, sweetheart?" the woman asked as she followed the two. "And what's your name, buddy?"

"I'm Clint," he whispered, trying to keep up with his sister.

"Can you tell me where you're going, Clint?"

"'Tasha says we're gonna make a home!" he smiled brightly, with all the joy an innocent child could muster.

"What happened to your old home?" the officer asked.

"'Tasha said the mean man was dead, so we need to find a new one!"

Natasha stopped walking and glared at her brother, preparing to pick him up and start running from the police officer. She was going to take her in. Lock her up. She couldn't be locked up anymore.

"That sucks," the woman knelt down to look Clint in the eye. "Can I help you find a new home? I promise that you'll be safe and warm and fed if you come with me." The officer looked at Natasha next. "You'll be safe. You can trust me."

Nat paused, thinking about how she was going to protect Clint, where they were going to get food and shelter and how they were even going to get clean.

"'Tasha? Are we going to go with the nice lady?" Clint asked, pulling on her hand.

Slowly, Nat nodded, glaring at the officer to promise unspoken pain if she were lying. Despite her mistrust, something about the woman, whether it was her smile or her kind eyes, reminded Natasha of her mother. If the officer did put her in prison, at least Clint would be safe and cared for. Natasha didn't matter. Clint did.

"Thank you for letting me help you, sweetheart. My car is just down the street, where we just came from. Can you guys walk that far?" she asked, standing up.

Nat nodded and turned herself and Clint around to follow the woman. As the siblings climbed in the car, Natasha closed her eyes, and let the feeling of freedom overtake her.

* * *

_Red._

The colour followed Natasha, no matter how many times she cut her hair with rusted kitchen shears or washed her hands, she couldn't stop seeing that colour. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the man, dead, surrounded by blood, or the faceless men that made the blood come out of her instead, and with it, the feeling of overwhelming fear and helplessness.

So, she decided not to fight it anymore. Sitting alone in a locked bathroom, the girl watched as the colour oozed upon her wrist and dripped onto the linoleum floor. Seeing the fresh, bright colour brought her back to that room, but that's where she was supposed to be, wasn't it? All the fear and helplessness left and she was in the blissful numb that overtook her after she killed the man. Everything and nothing mattered as she watched the colour drip-drip into a puddle.

The doctors and caseworkers wanted her to talk to them, tell them what happened. But she couldn't. They didn't understand that the words just _wouldn't_ leave. Every time she tried to force out a sentence it felt like the world was suffocating her. So she didn't try anymore.

Selective mutism caused by trauma was the official diagnosis. Natasha didn't care. She and Clint developed their own language and really, why would she want to talk to anyone else? Other people hurt her.

The doctor taught her some sign language to communicate, but she refused to learn more than the basic, adamant that Clint was the only one she would 'talk' to.

* * *

The colour faded, but didn't disappear. The police found Clint's birth father just a few blocks away. At first, the man wanted no part in taking Natasha, claiming her to be a 'bastard' but his wife simply smiled at the kids and ushered them in.

The woman really had no right to like Clint and Natasha, considering her husband cheated on her with a drug addict, but she assured them that the sins of their mother had nothing to do with the two of them.

Clint found out that he also had an older half brother, named Barney. The ten-year-old took his father's ideals and wanted the siblings gone, going so far as to pinch Clint whenever no one was looking so he'd continuously cry and make their father upset. Natasha made sure that the older boy tripped whenever he passed her.

The stench of alcohol permeated the walls and floors of the tiny house, and at night, it accompanied the sound of fists hitting flesh. Natasha held Clint close then, covering his ears and blocking out her own fear and helplessness that returned full force and tried to suffocate her while she cradled her brother. She didn't matter. Clint did.

The new family also meant that Natasha had to go to school, a place she hadn't been to since their mother left. So, with a hug to Clint and a hand on Barney's old backpack, she took a deep breath and walked into the schoolyard. Clint's step-mother kept asking her if she'd made friends. It was hard to make friends when you refused to talk to them.

Clint's father, however, claimed that Clint was still too young for school and it was decided that he would watch the boy at home while the rest of the kids gone. That first day, Natasha was greeted with a big smile and a tackled hug from her younger brother and it warmed her to know he was happy. She didn't need friends, she had Clint.

Every day as Natasha left for school, Clint begged her not to go, to stay just for that day because he missed her so much. She laughed, hugged her brother and shut the door. Every day. She had a nagging feeling that something was off, but then again, nothing really felt right to begin with.

* * *

_Red._

She'd almost forgotten she could see the colour without the darkness of night and the sound of violence. It lingered on the outskirts of her vision, but if she tried, she could almost pretend it wasn't there during the day. Until she had a half-day of school and came home earlier than expected.

"Please, Daddy! I'm sorry!" Clint was crying, she could hear it through the door. Bursting through, Natasha saw Clint's father holding the boy by his hair, Clint's shirt off and covered in bruises.

The colour, and the anger, returned.

* * *

_Red._

She woke up with Clint crying next to her.

"'Tasha? You okay?"

She nodded and winced at the pain radiating through her head. Slowly sitting up, she realized the two of them were in a closet.

"Daddy got really mad and locked us in here," the boy explained. "But you weren't waking up and I got scared."

Natasha leaned against the wall of the closet and held her arms out for her brother to come closer. Clint sat on his sister's lap and fell asleep with her arms wrapped safely around him. The rest of the world faded away to the unforgiving grasp of the colour, and the feelings that accompanied it.

That's how the police found them hours later with the news that Clint's dad had driven the rest of the family into a tree, leaving the siblings, once again, without a home.

* * *

_Red._

Natasha watched blood dripping from a different man, this one her foster parent. He approached too quickly and was going to hurt her and Clint, she just knew it.

She listened to the doctor explain why 'biting is never the answer, Natasha'. Scoffing, the girl had to disagree. She escaped the mean man, right?

They left that foster home the next week after she bit the man a second time.

* * *

_Red._

Ironically, the siblings' case file was the colour that tormented Natasha every second. Mr. Coulson sighed as he looked through the folder for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"Nat, you can't keep hurting people. I know you're scared and it's worked in the past, but these people, they aren't going to hurt you," the man pleaded with her.

Natasha did not respond. Mr. Coulson was a kind man, had always kept to his side of the desk and had never even attempted to get her to speak, but he was still an adult man. Adults weren't to be trusted, let alone men. Men only brought pain and cruel tricks.

Closing the folder, Mr. Coulson ran a hand down his face. "There aren't many places that will take both you and your brother, Nat. We've already tried three places!"

Natasha glared at the man to warn him not to separate them, hiding the fact that her heart seized in her chest at the thought. She would rather go back to that room then be taken from Clint.

"Relax," the man held out his hands in a calming gesture. "I still have one more trick up my sleeve."

He tossed a blue folder across his desk to the girl. Cautiously, she opened it.

"Their names are Steve and Tony. Steve is an ex-military Captain and Tony is an engineer. They have two adopted sons already with their eyes on a third." Mr. Coulson explained.

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"I know you're not fond of men, Nat, and you have good reason to be," he started. "But this may be your last chance to stay with Clint. If this doesn't work you'll have to go into group homes."

The girl glared harder at the man.

"It's not an option for me either, that's why you have to try with this one, Nat. For Clint."

Bracing herself, the girl closed the file, crossed her arms and nodded once. She was scared, but she didn't matter. Staying with Clint did.

* * *

_Red._

She once again watched the colour rise to the surface and trail down her skin. Mesmerized by the look and feel of the blood and the numbness that overtook her, Natasha was startled when Tony knocked on the door.

"Nat? You okay?" he called out.

She nodded, before remembering the man couldn't see her. She quickly wiped up the blood and opened the door, nodding once before closing the door once again.

"Natasha, sweetheart, I need you to open the door again, please," Tony knocked again, a slight edge to his voice that wasn't there before. She looked down and almost groaned when she realized that the blood had soaked through her shirt sleeve.

"Natasha, sweetie?"

Great. Now Steve was here.

The girl continued to ignore the men and simply sat in front of the sink, watching the colour fall once more. They ruined the numb, the fear and helplessness were coming back.

A loud bang as the door swung inwards. Natasha sprang up to defend herself, but the attacker already had his hands up. Steve stood in the doorway of the bathroom with his hands held clearly in front of him.

"Nat, I know you want to be alone right now, but you're bleeding and you need medical attention."

She sneered and pushed past him, heading to hers and Clint's room to hide and push her feelings aside as much as she could. Tony blocked her.

"Nope. You are not hiding in your room until we search it for sharp objects, missy," he stated, earning him a hard shove from the girl. She needed to escape. She needed out.

Expecting a fight, Natasha squared herself up to attack again, but the man simply found his footing and lowered his arms.

"Nat. We are _not_ doing this to punish you."

"We don't want you to hurt yourself again," Steve stated behind her. "We love you too much to let you do that to yourself."

She scoffed again and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Nat, you heard him right. We _love you_ too much," Tony emphasized.

_Red._

The colour was back. She wasn't even trying to talk but the world was suffocating her again. Every thought was put into remembering how to breathe, forcing air into her lungs.

When the world came back into focus, Natasha found herself crouched on the ground with both Steve and Tony sitting a respectful distance away.

"How ya doin', sweetheart," Steve asked. "You with us?"

She nodded. The colour faded just the smallest amount, as did the fear.

"Good." His eyes were wet. Interesting. "Here's what's gonna happen. Either Tony or I am going to stay here with you while the other looks for any sharp object you can use to cut yourself with. After that, we're calling Dr. Hill and making you an appointment to see her as soon as possible, okay?"

Nat was too tired to argue. It wasn't like she couldn't find something else to bring back the colour and the numb.

"Do you have a preference as to who stays with you, Nat?" Tony asked. Do you want Steve to stay, or me?"

The girl shook her head, then paused. Raising her hand she pointed to Tony. Tony was built, but small, she could take him in a fight much easier than Steve.

"You want me to stay?" he asked. Nat nodded.

"Alright, sweetheart," Steve said, getting up. "I'll be back soon."

* * *

_Red._

Every time she left a session with Dr. Hill she saw the colour. Sometimes it was sharp and painful, others it was faded and dull. Dr. Hill said the less she saw the colour, the better she was getting.

She still saw the colour though. Every moment of every day she saw that colour.

Dr. Hill made her realize that there were specific actions and feelings associated with when the colour was near painful, and when it was manageable. Fear and helplessness was a given, but she also discovered she felt lonely. And sad.

Laughter was her favourite when it was manageable. Hearing Clint laugh made the colour fade so much that she could barely see it around the corners of her vision.

Dreaming made it worse. Steve and Tony locked even the butter knives in a safe after a particularly bad dream found her once again in the bathroom bleeding, just staring at the blood and letting the colour cloud everything in her mind.

* * *

_Red._

The girl sat with her head between her knees and listened to Tony guide her through deep breathing in a chair across the room. Gaining control once more, Natasha lifted her head to look at the man and realized he was trying to hide tears as he gave her a slight smile.

After waiting until the feelings passed enough not to paralyze her, she raised an eyebrow in question, gesturing to the man's face.

Tony sighed. "It hurts me to know you're not happy," he admitted. "I want to do everything I can to just take away your pain, but I can't."

The girl cocked her head in confusion.

The man inched closer, reading Natasha's face as to how close was too close, before reaching for her hand and holding it lightly. She stared at the hand in wonder, squeezing it tightly after a moment. Tony was a man. Tony was supposed to come with fear, but she felt...safe?

Tony smiled, and shared: "We love you, Natasha. Steve and I would move heaven and earth to make you smile."

Looking down, Natasha bit her lip as guilt washed over her. She used one of the few signs she knew. _Sorry._

"What are you apologizing for, sweetheart?" Tony asked as he pulled out his phone. He pulled up the notes app and gave the phone to Natasha, awaiting a response.

_I'm not good_, the phone read. _I'm not normal_.

"Oh, Nat," Tony sighed. "Can I give you a hug?"

The girl quickly shook her head. _Not safe_ rang through her head.

"Alright, that's okay," the man responded, just as fast. "Whoever made you feel like you weren't _good_ didn't deserve you in the first place."

Natasha studied her foster father's face, taking in the sincerity with skepticism. She held out her hand for the phone, which Tony readily gave.

_But I can't even talk to you. I'm broken._

Tony closed his eyes and took a bracing breath when he read the words. "You're not broken, Natasha. You're a survivor," he explained, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, you have some trouble talking, and maybe you'll talk again, and maybe you won't. That doesn't mean you're broken, it means you're healing. And even if you do talk again, we don't expect you to be okay all the time, everyone has setbacks and it's a normal part of recovery."

The girl bowed her head to hide the tears threatening to overtake her. She needed to talk to Dr. Hill, this was a feeling she'd never experienced before. Almost… happy? Proud?

_Why are you so nice to me?_ she typed through blurry eyes.

"Because you're our daughter, Natasha. And we love you with all of our hearts."

* * *

It wasn't until she was laughing at Clint pining Thor in a 'mock battle for the tv remote' that Natasha realized, she didn't see red.

Her hands were loose at her sides, her stomach wasn't twisted into knots and her thoughts were far from the horrors in her past.

She felt...good.

Startled at the discovery, she didn't hear Steve offer her the bowl of popcorn the first time.

"Natasha, honey. Did you hear me?" he asked. "Do you want popcorn?"

She smiled at the man that had been so patient and kind through every temper tantrum and setback she had, and responded: "Yes please, Papa."


End file.
